Unfamiliar Shores
by Miss Kristin of the Shire
Summary: Frodo has just set sail from the Grey Havens and exchanged his final goobyes with Sam, Merry, and Pippin. This is the story of what took place en route to Valinor as he comes to terms with his decision.


Frodo stood on board the great white ship bathed in the pristine light of the star-glass as he raised it above his head in token of farewell. The westering sun struck its prismatic body and refracted its radiance forth to those he had left behind in a dazzling silver starburst, recalling the majesty and resplendence of the Silmaril that sailed with Eärendil of old and whose brilliance was without equal. As the ship slid further away from the Havens and his friends became little more than formless specks on the horizon, the light began to dwindle until it was wholly extinguished. Frodo lowered his arm slowly and gazed bemusedly at the phial, feeling every bit as though a vital life-line had somehow been severed.

"Much darkness has passed from the world, Frodo Baggins," a woman's voice sounded from behind him. He turned to meet the eyes of Galadriel, and found himself humbled once more by her Elven grace and surpassing loveliness. "But so too must many things that were beautiful."

Frodo returned the phial to his pocket tentatively, a troubled expression crossing his features. It seemed a strange and inauspicious omen that Eärendil's star should so suddenly depart, and he began to doubt if his leaving had really been the wisest course of action after all. The Lady's Glass had ever been a boon to both he and Sam in the midst of darkness and had seen them through many of his gravest perils. If it had not been for the phial, Sam should have hardly been able to drive the wretched Shelob back into her loathsome lair or pass into the stronghold of Cirith Ungol where he had lain imprisoned at the mercy of the Orcs. The glass had in many ways come to represent the fortitude and the unfaltering heroism of his dearest friend, the hobbit who had delivered him from the edge of doom time and time again without fail. Now the light was gone, and his heart seemed to tighten uncomfortably in his chest. Intuiting his thoughts, Galadriel replied,

"Fear not, Frodo, for the light of the Valar is the greater, and it shall endure until the very ending of the world, just as the unbreakable ties of friendship that bind you to your loved ones. That light shall soon be revealed to you, and all doubt will be laid to rest."

He gave a slight nod, his eyes downcast, but he hadn't the heart to make any reply. Galadriel bestowed on him a small, comforting smile and left him to his thoughts.

Frodo rested his hands on the railing of the ship, his instinctive aversion to water quite forgotten for the present. His eyes strayed unseeingly over the lacquered surface of the Sea as he ruminated upon everything that had transpired during his last precious moments on Middle-earth. The decision to leave his friends, his family, and his homeland behind was one that had been long in the making and bitter in the choosing, but he had quite convinced himself that it was the only alternative left to him after all that he had suffered. It had become painfully clear that the Ring's lingering power continued to exert itself upon him, though it had been unwrought in the consuming fires and passed out of the world forever. Even in its physical absence, it seemed to hang suspended before his living eyes, eclipsing the light of day and speaking to him in sibilant undertones. It stole the fragrance from the gardens of Bag End and rendered food tasteless and unwholesome; it disturbed his sleep and sought him out in the haunted vales of his nightmares. Words of comfort were mute and unintelligible, laughter rang hollow and smiles turned to sneers when the sickness was upon him. And always, there was a coldness that no healing draught or loving embrace could remedy. It was for these reasons and more that Frodo became aware that the matter of leaving was not simply his best hope for recovery, but the _only_ hope that remained.

Yet there was no amount of preparation or self-persuasion that could have readied him for the grief of those final goodbyes. How could he forget the look on Sam's face when the realization had finally dawned on him that his beloved master would be taking a journey from which there was no returning? Could even the Blessed Realm erase the image of Merry and Pippin flying to meet him like birds on the wing, their glittering tears trailing behind them as they came? Is this how he would remember those that he cherished most for the rest of his days? Indeed, there was an aura of unreality about the whole scene that he struggled to come to grips with; that he should even be granted permission to set foot on this ship at all was hardly to be believed. But here he was, sailing across the measureless Sea, on his way to a land where no hobbit had ever set foot, a place of respite and relief, a paradise on earth that none save the chosen few had ever beheld. So why did his heart misgive him?

In the midst of these thoughts, a pair of aged, weatherworn hands nearly twice the size of his own materialized on the railing right beside him, and Frodo caught the flash of the red jewel of Narya out of the corner of his eye.

"I can't believe I'm really going, Gandalf," said Frodo in a faraway voice. "It seems as though I've been planning for this day for so long now. I'd pictured the way the parting would play out in my mind's eye often in the weeks prior. I'd recited the words I'd say to Sam in my head more times than I can count. I imagined what it would be to climb the last ship and look my last upon the Shire and all of Middle-earth. But now that the hour has finally arrived, I feel that I am quite unprepared for the journey ahead."

"Well, I'm afraid we can't very well turn back now, Frodo," Gandalf replied, a playful twinkle in his eye.

"I know. I suppose I shouldn't go back even if that choice was given to me. But it is terribly hard, Gandalf, leaving behind the people I love and all the comforts of home for strange and unfamiliar shores."

"Ah, but you have not left _all_ behind, for surely you have not forgotten that Bilbo sails with you?"

"Of course I haven't forgotten! How is he, Gandalf," he asked, inwardly reproving himself for allowing his thoughts to distract him from tending to his uncle.

"Fear not! He is resting quite peacefully," Gandalf reassured him.

"I'm glad of it. You know, I _really_ should never have had the will to leave if Bilbo had not gone with me."

"So I guessed, Frodo. Indeed, it would be asking quite a lot of you to uproot yourself from your old life entirely, no matter how blessed the eventual destination. Elves and wizards have their place in the ordering of the world, to be sure, but they may prove unsuitable company for the likes of hobbits such as yourself, I'm afraid."

A shadow of a smile crossed Frodo's face as he thought of his inability to exchange even a single word with Galadriel moments before.

"I should certainly feel more like myself with Bilbo here beside me," Frodo tactfully responded. "And yet, I cannot be rid of the feeling that I've left the better part of me behind on the eastern shores." He looked up beseechingly at Gandalf, his face betraying his inner turmoil more tellingly than words ever could. "My heart tarries in the Shire," he said meaningfully, and lowered his gaze so that Gandalf might not see the sheen of tears that mantled his eyes.

"You need not be ashamed of your feelings, Frodo," Gandalf answered gently, laying a hand on the hobbit's shoulder, "for it is only natural that you should you have them, with the memory of your leave-taking still fresh in your mind. You are perfectly within your rights to miss your friends; but do not mourn for them, Frodo, for they shall go on and accomplish much, even after all they have already done, and they will live out the rest of their days fully and memorably. You mustn't concern yourself overmuch on their account. They would not wish it."

Frodo perceived the wisdom in Gandalf's words – had he not himself spoken similar ones to Sam himself ere they had reached the Grey Havens? – but he was still conflicted in mind and sore at heart. He had spent his final days concerning himself with the completion of his part of the Red Book and deliberating over how to break the news of his departure to Sam without giving so much as a thought to his own emotional state. He had wanted his parting words to convey strength and hope to the one who had pledged his life to protect him and had risen to the occasion at every test. He had had to be strong to deliver those words, holding his own tears at bay as he gave Sam surety that he would carry on without his long-cherished master. He had put on his bravest face, taking great pains to betray no undue emotion while he said his piece. Now it seemed that his last reserves of strength had been utterly depleted, and that he could simply collapse in a fit of weeping if he allowed it.

And what of Merry and Pippin? He should have never have even had the chance to see them one last time had Gandalf not apprised them of the situation. Would his cousins think that Frodo had tried to forsake them, to slip out quietly and unnoticed while their backs were turned like one that is guilty? Did they understand that he had only withheld his intentions from them so that they might be spared the worst of the pain, foolish as that reasoning might seem to him now? Could they forgive him for not making his plans known to them from the first?

"I know that what you say is true, Gandalf. Your counsel has ever been a help to me in times of doubt, and I value it above many things. Still, I am uneasy in my mind. I hope that Merry and Pippin and dear Sam do not take it too hard. I pray that they understand."

"They understand, Frodo; on that score, you may rest easy. Was not Sam by your bedside when darkness crept upon you and your old wounds cried out in remembrance of the evil that wrought them? Did you not hear the laughter mingled with Master Peregrin's tears as he called out to you from the Havens? Did you not see the love that shone in the eyes of all your comrades, love unmarred by bitterness or injured feeling? So I say to you again, do not grieve, for all sorrows lay behind you now."

"And with them, some of chief joys," Frodo thought out loud.

"Nay, say not so. Those you shall take with you, and they will be a comfort to you wherever you may go."

"Even across the Sea?"

"Even across the Sea."

Frodo sighed, letting Gandalf's words permeate his consciousness and deriving what solace he could from the wisdom that was imparted to him. With his elbows resting on the ship's railing, he let fall a single tear which struck the surface of the water like a bead of diamond on a sheet of imperishable glass. The smallest of ripples radiated outward from its landing spot and all was still once more.

He stood upon the ship immobile, insensible, and alone for time uncounted. Great sheaves of storm-clouds enshrouded the evening sky and swallowed the last remaining light, thrusting him into what seemed an even deeper gloom. But then, unaccountably, his spirits began to rise anew, and the Sea bore upon it an ambrosial wind that lightened his heart and gladdened his soul. The heavens opened up above him, and it was as though the very eyes of Eternity wept tears of joy upon him, and he added his tears to the falling rain openly and without sorrow. His senses were alive with the heady aroma of the perfumed mists, the feel of the warm, cleansing rainwater on his skin, and suddenly, the sound of voices lifted in song just on the edge of hearing. As the ship drew nearer to the shores of the Undying Lands, the voices rose up stronger and clearer, and he was aggrieved no longer, for theirs was a song of blissfulness undiluted and serenity everlasting. And it seemed to Frodo that amidst the divine voices of this golden-tongued choir, he heard the high, ringing cadences of young Pippin, the jaunty, cheerful tones of cousin Merry, and the sweetly humble tenor of his faithful Samwise. The words of Gandalf fell into place at last.

"_I will take them with me, even across the Sea_."


End file.
